


Cold Winds And Colder Hearts

by Val_Creative



Series: Kinktober/Whumptober/Goretober 2020 [8]
Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Canon Related, Canonical Character Death, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Girls Kissing, Goretober, Horror, Implied/Referenced Incest, Introspection, Isolation, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Lust at First Sight, Menstruation Kink, Minor Injuries, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Oral Sex, Poisoning, Romantic Angst, Seduction, Vaginal Fingering, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26902294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Lucille remembers all of Thomas's wives and how her brother allowed her to seduce them.
Relationships: Edith Cushing/Lucille Sharpe, Lucille Sharpe/Thomas's Wives
Series: Kinktober/Whumptober/Goretober 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949473
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20
Collections: Kinktober 2020, Whumptober 2020





	Cold Winds And Colder Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to try some heavy focus on Lucille being wlw and twisted. I know in canon she probably never seduced the wives but personally I love the idea. Thanks for reading and any thoughts/comments are deeply appreciated! 💖🩸🥰

*

Thomas has always kept his eyes closed when something made him uncomfortable.

Lucille must have them open.

*

The first was a heavy-waisted and gentle-faced aristocrat bound to a wheelchair. 

All she did was _talk_. 

Beg for Thomas to say he loved her as once in London. 

Pamela Upton eventually came to Lucille, fretting about the cold, snowy weather and black moths.

(Not the _first_ kill. The first was Mother left to rot in the bright crimson pool of clay.)

Despite her unsophisticated behaviour and the prattle, Lucille taught her embroidery. She listened to Pamela's childhood stories. Washed her pale-ash hair, dressed her in finery and silks, and lifted her onto the bed. 

Pamela complained sulkily about Lucille's overly sweet kisses upon her face. It was _improper_ of two women. 

Lucille dared to grin menacingly into another cheek-kiss, baring her teeth. 

She could feel the stiff tremor of horror coursing through Thomas's first wife. 

It _delighted_ Lucille.

Horror is all there is left of her. She is the _only_ now person who can keep Thomas's head above water.

Lucille had not yet perfected the amount of hemlock to brew the tea. Shortly after a fortnight, Pamela still lived and breathed. Even if she was unable to lift a finger. Thomas had no interest in attending to his wife, busying himself in his workshop.

He _abandoned_ her. Like all of the others to come.

Blood trickled out of Pamela's ears and her tiny nostrils. Lucille watched on in cruel fascination, unmoved to the whimpering. 

_Cold._

Cold winds and colder hearts. There's nothing else. 

A empty-eyed Lucille shifted Pamela's nightgown aside, dabbing a fingertip over the wet redness gleaming against those nude thighs. Lucille sucked her finger clean, moaning out.  She didn't taste the death. It was _life_.

_ Lust. _

It was a lust for bloodshed and women growing inside Lucille's breast.

(Pamela wilted away as spring heightened its flowering, and then she buried deep underneath the estate's stones.)

*

The second was Margaret McDermett—the successor to a number of machinery businesses. 

Waifish. Her arms as pale as a dead tree's limbs. 

Lucille saw march into Allerdale Hall, ordering Finny with her bags as if _she_ were the Young Master. Not Thomas himself. 

It should have infuriated Lucille, but she can admit that power seduces. 

Margaret has been her _favourite_.

Lucille felt _seen_ by her. Margaret knew how to whisper deception to others. She could curtsy like a princess and manage finances. Occasionally they would huddle together in firelight, chuckling and sipping brandy until Margaret's face flushed.

Friendship. Love and warmth.

Her copper hair twirled beautifully against Lucille's hand. Margaret did not protest her. Lucille saw a hardened and untrusting woman, and longed to soften her apart. Tear her and devour her whole. Her lips grazed over Margaret's throat, her shoulders and her back. Margaret rolled her tongue inside Lucille's mouth, groaning euphorically and hiking up her skirts.

Margaret weakened in the following days until Lucille senses blood in their kisses. She thought… _perhaps at one point_ … Lucille fell in love. She never meant to. She did not share this secret with Thomas whom loved her.

_ We stay together. _

_ Never apart. _

Summer danced among the hills, vanishing along with Margaret's last, quivering breath.

*

The third was Enola Sciotti. An heiress with a spoiled dog.

She suffered from nerves and fainting spells. Lucille often woke her gently, patting the other woman's brow with a cloth. She traveled out of Milan to live in Cumberland, England. Her family sent letters every Sunday, and Enola received none of them.

Lucille wanted her isolated. Miserable and feeble, wandering the upstairs rooms like a shivering, hysterical ghost.

When she bled during the month, Lucille soothed her, holding Enola in her arms, cooing and petting her mound. The smell _divine_. She waited patiently until Thomas's new wife slept, easing and crooking two fingers inside her, swabbing out the fresh blood. 

_Life_. 

There was a life forming inside Lucille as her belly curved out. It felt round and heavy in her own hands.

Thomas did not seem as joyful as Lucille. 

Perhaps _he_ knew before Lucille see it with her own monstrous eyes.

Enola figured out on her own that it was Thomas's baby, yelling and cowering away from her husband and her sister. She hid in the attic. Lucille did not mind. She, however, did not wish to lose her son. Not like the first. Mother had been a liar and a traitor.

The baby did not live. Autumn cast its long shadow upon them.

No matter how many times Lucille stole and sucked Enola's blood from her cunt.

*

And then darling, dearest Edith appeared. Thomas _chose_ her.

How strange.

Lucille allows him to do as he wills, as Thomas allows her to madden and seduce his wives. Edith has none of Enola's charming wit. Her magnificence or her dark coils of hair. It's a yellow unlike any other. Reminding her of morninglight fading in the windows.

The thirst remains unquenched. Lust as bright crimson as the warm, dripping clay pits.

"Oh my goodness," Edith breathes. She rushes over to a furious Lucille staring off into space and crushing a bottle in her hand. Visible glass shards jut from Lucille's palm. "Hold still. You're going to be alright, Lucille," Edith tuts, carefully plucking them out.

"Thank you," Lucille murmurs.

She feels drowsily when Edith bows her head and lifts Lucille's wound, pressing a kiss there instinctively.

Blood smears faintly across Edith's lips.

Lucille thinks of the fire-thorn berries and poison swirling in tea water. She thinks of how nothing gentle took root in this land, or in her own heart. Edith coughs and shudders from her lungs failing her, apologizing as Lucille offers a kind smile.

Winter howls.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober 2020 prompt(s): **Menophilia**  
>  Whumptober 2020 prompt(s): **Abandoned, Isolated**  
>  Goretober 2020 prompt(s): **Glass**


End file.
